I have a parking ticket. Again.
In just over 365 days, I moved into an apartment that I loved, then out of said apartment and into my mother's attic, then out again and into another apartment of my own. But me and the new apartment have had some growing pains, to say the least. First, there was the no heat problem. For weeks, I went days without heat, even when temperatures fell below freezing. Then there was the paint (or lack thereof). It seemed as if a blind chimpanzee visited my apartment before I moved in, splattering ill-matched patches of paint on every wall. But now the heat is more or less fixed, and I had my entire apartment custom painted, and things are beginning to feel more comfortable. However, if everything in my life were going right, it wouldn't be my life, so of course there's one issue with my apartment that persists- my ever growing pile of fucking tickets. Even as I type, there's one on my car, the top half shivering each time the wind blows as if delivering silent belly laughs. Since November, I've gotten five tickets, and since responsibility is for ninnies, I've not paid one. The problem is that my new apartment is in the heart of the City's gay district (yay); I'm surrounded by gay clubs and bars, restaurants and fun (woop woop!!), but with great entertainment comes super shitty parking, and I've enjoyed nothing less than.
The parking here is so terrible that I avoid going anywhere that's beyond walking distance because I know it'll be hard to park when I return. And when I do drive places, such as to work or to the grocery store, I do what I call "camping out" upon my return. Camping out is quite an art. To do it properly, I need:
- a helmet. This will make sense later.
- a pair of binoculars, because eyes alone can only do so much.
- a case of water, because I could be in my car for quite a while.
- a glass bottle, because all of that water makes me go!
- air spray for odors, including but not limited to pee odor, body odor (because I really could be there for a while) and of course pet odors - because by the time I make it in the house, I worry that my cat will have died of old age.
Once my supplies are in tow, I turn my hazard lights on and double park on my street. I secure my helmet because I live on a main street and I worry that someone could ram into the back of my car at 65 miles per hour. I then turn the radio on, grab my binoculars and stare determinedly at any person who walks down the street, hoping that they’re walking to a car. Should I see a person with keys in hand, I drive behind them as they walk (you may have seen similar practices in mall parking lots) until they get in a car or begin running in fear, whichever comes first. Eventually I get a spot, but the process can take an hour or more, and a great deal more patience than I prefer to exercise.
So I guess I'll do the responsible thing and pay the fucking tickets when I get paid on Friday, and I'll call my landlord and request a private parking space - the $120/month that they charge is beginning to feel like a slight inconvenience compared to what I go through now. But the real question is – with no heat concerns, beautiful hues of blue, tan and taupe covering my walls, and convenient parking…what in the hell will go wrong?
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see…
In just over 365 days, I moved into an apartment that I loved, then out of said apartment and into my mother's attic, then out again and into another apartment of my own. But me and the new apartment have had some growing pains, to say the least. First, there was the no heat problem. For weeks, I went days without heat, even when temperatures fell below freezing. Then there was the paint (or lack thereof). It seemed as if a blind chimpanzee visited my apartment before I moved in, splattering ill-matched patches of paint on every wall. But now the heat is more or less fixed, and I had my entire apartment custom painted, and things are beginning to feel more comfortable. However, if everything in my life were going right, it wouldn't be my life, so of course there's one issue with my apartment that persists- my ever growing pile of fucking tickets. Even as I type, there's one on my car, the top half shivering each time the wind blows as if delivering silent belly laughs. Since November, I've gotten five tickets, and since responsibility is for ninnies, I've not paid one. The problem is that my new apartment is in the heart of the City's gay district (yay); I'm surrounded by gay clubs and bars, restaurants and fun (woop woop!!), but with great entertainment comes super shitty parking, and I've enjoyed nothing less than.
The parking here is so terrible that I avoid going anywhere that's beyond walking distance because I know it'll be hard to park when I return. And when I do drive places, such as to work or to the grocery store, I do what I call "camping out" upon my return. Camping out is quite an art. To do it properly, I need:
- a helmet. This will make sense later.
- a pair of binoculars, because eyes alone can only do so much.
- a case of water, because I could be in my car for quite a while.
- a glass bottle, because all of that water makes me go!
- air spray for odors, including but not limited to pee odor, body odor (because I really could be there for a while) and of course pet odors - because by the time I make it in the house, I worry that my cat will have died of old age.
Once my supplies are in tow, I turn my hazard lights on and double park on my street. I secure my helmet because I live on a main street and I worry that someone could ram into the back of my car at 65 miles per hour. I then turn the radio on, grab my binoculars and stare determinedly at any person who walks down the street, hoping that they’re walking to a car. Should I see a person with keys in hand, I drive behind them as they walk (you may have seen similar practices in mall parking lots) until they get in a car or begin running in fear, whichever comes first. Eventually I get a spot, but the process can take an hour or more, and a great deal more patience than I prefer to exercise.
So I guess I'll do the responsible thing and pay the fucking tickets when I get paid on Friday, and I'll call my landlord and request a private parking space - the $120/month that they charge is beginning to feel like a slight inconvenience compared to what I go through now. But the real question is – with no heat concerns, beautiful hues of blue, tan and taupe covering my walls, and convenient parking…what in the hell will go wrong?
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see…
No comments:
Post a Comment